THE WORLD DOESN'T NEED TO BURN. THE BULLSHIT DOES.
By Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
You know what?
I'm getting really fucking tired of people.
Not because humanity is imperfect. Not because everybody makes mistakes. Not because I expect seven billion walking saints to descend from heaven and start handing out complimentary hugs and emotional support sandwiches.
No.
I'm tired because somewhere along the way, being a decent fucking human being became an optional subscription service.
Want honesty? Premium.
Want respect? Upgrade.
Want somebody to actually mean what they say? Congratulations, motherfucker! You've unlocked another opportunity to unlock absolutely fucking nothing.
And if you think I'm exaggerating, allow me to introduce you to the modern human experience.
THE $26 LESSON IN HUMAN DISAPPOINTMENT
I wanted to meet somebody.
That's it.
Not marry her. Not buy her a house. Not finance her retirement or name our hypothetical children after obscure Final Fantasy characters.
Just meet.
Have a conversation. Maybe flirt. Maybe enjoy ourselves.
And what did I get?
A goddamn digital tollbooth.
One unlock.
Then three more.
Then five more.
And somewhere along the way, twenty-six fucking dollars wandered out of my wallet and into the great commercial sewage system of human desperation.
Was the content nice?
Sure.
Was the experience worth it? FUCK NO.
Because every time I tried to steer things toward an actual meeting, there was another purchase waiting like a greasy little goblin guarding a bridge.
"Just one more."
No, motherfucker.
I've already paid the troll.
I've paid the troll's cousin.
I've apparently financed the troll's fucking community college education.
WHERE IS THE GODDAMN BRIDGE?
I DON'T HATE PEOPLE FOR WANTING MONEY. I HATE BEING TREATED LIKE A WALLET WITH LEGS.
Here's something that shouldn't require a doctoral dissertation in basic fucking ethics:
If you're selling entertainment, sell entertainment.
If you're offering companionship, be honest about what that means.
If you don't want to meet somebody, say so.
But don't dangle the possibility of something genuine in front of somebody while continuously directing them toward another purchase.
That's not romance.
That's not flirting.
That's a fucking checkout process wearing perfume.
And I'm tired of it.
I'm tired of people who treat kindness like a weakness to exploit.
I'm tired of people who mistake patience for permission.
I'm tired of watching simple human interactions become elaborate little schemes designed to extract five more dollars from somebody who just wanted to feel wanted for five goddamn minutes.
Not every interaction needs a business model, you emotionally bankrupt fucks.
I WASN'T ANGRY. THAT'S WHAT MAKES THIS SO FUCKING INFURIATING.
I didn't scream.
I didn't threaten anybody.
I didn't launch into some spectacular meltdown worthy of a Netflix documentary.
I called the behavior trash.
Because that's what I thought it was.
And when the nonsense continued?
I wished upon its architect the devastating consequences of being struck by a very soft pillow.
A VERY. SOFT. PILLOW.
May it be freshly fluffed.
May it smell faintly of lavender.
May its devastating impact cause a moment of profound self-reflection.
And may the bullshit be thoroughly cleaned out afterward.
Because here's the thing.
I don't actually want to hurt anybody. I want people to stop giving me reasons to lose faith in them.
And apparently that's too much to fucking ask.
SOMETIMES I WANT TO WATCH THE WHOLE DAMN WORLD BURN.
There.
I said it.
Sometimes I look at the greed, the dishonesty, the manufactured drama, the manipulation, the endless parade of people treating other human beings like disposable resources, and I think:
BURN THE WHOLE FUCKING SYSTEM DOWN.
Not the children.
Not the innocent people trying to survive another miserable Tuesday.
Not the exhausted worker wondering whether groceries or electricity gets paid this week.
I'm talking about the machinery of bullshit.
The business models that reward deception.
The platforms that turn loneliness into revenue.
The culture that teaches people to squeeze every possible advantage out of another human being and then calls it entrepreneurship.
Burn that.
Burn the incentive to be an asshole.
Burn the notion that every vulnerable moment is an opportunity to make a sale.
Burn the fucking scoreboard where somebody's worth is measured by how much money can be extracted from them.
And when the smoke clears?
Build something that doesn't require a credit card to experience a little goddamn sincerity.
THE MOST EXHAUSTING PART IS HAVING TO KEEP YOUR GUARD UP.
People love telling you to be careful.
Watch for red flags.
Protect your finances.
Don't trust too easily.
Don't get emotionally invested.
Don't let anyone manipulate you.
And they're not wrong.
But has anybody considered how fucking exhausting it is to constantly operate like you're conducting a security audit just to have a conversation?
I don't want every flirtation to become a fraud investigation.
I don't want every friendly stranger to become a potential suspect.
I don't want to sit there calculating whether somebody's kindness is genuine or merely the introductory offer to their premium bullshit package.
I WANT TO TALK TO PEOPLE WITHOUT FEELING LIKE I'M NEGOTIATING WITH A GODDAMN HOSTAGE-TAKER.
Is that really so unreasonable?
Apparently.
AND YES, I'M ANGRY AT MYSELF TOO.
Because I knew better.
I had a rule.
No more paid-unlock pressure.
No more chasing promises through increasingly expensive doors.
No more throwing good money after bad.
And tonight?
I slipped.
Twenty-six dollars and some change.
Not enough to bankrupt a nation.
But enough to hurt somebody who's already counting dollars and trying to get back on his feet.
And that's the part that stings.
Not just the money.
The realization that I let myself walk through another door when I already knew what kind of bullshit was waiting on the other side.
But I'm not going to spend the rest of the night whipping myself over it.
I made a mistake. I am not the fucking mistake.
There's a difference.
And I'll be damned if I'm going to let somebody else's sales pitch collect interest on my self-respect.
DEAR HUMANITY: BE 25% LESS SHIT.
I'm not asking for perfection.
I'm not asking you to love everybody.
I'm not asking you to hold hands, sing kumbaya, and pretend the world is made of marshmallows and benevolent woodland creatures.
I'm asking for something embarrassingly simple.
Be twenty-five percent less fucking shit.
That's it.
Don't promise what you won't deliver.
Don't manipulate people who are already struggling.
Don't confuse somebody's desire for connection with an invitation to exploit them.
Don't manufacture problems just so you can sell the solution.
And for the love of every exhausted bastard still trying to believe there's something decent left in this world:
STOP MAKING HUMAN DECENCY FEEL LIKE A GODDAMN MICROTRANSACTION.
I don't need humanity to be beautiful.
I don't need everybody to be my friend.
I don't even need everybody to like me.
I just need people to stop making basic existence unnecessarily miserable for one another.
And if that's an impossible request?
Then perhaps the problem isn't that I'm asking too much.
Perhaps the problem is that we've become far too comfortable accepting too fucking little.
MR. JERRY'S UNSOLICITED ADVICE
If somebody keeps putting a price tag between you and what they claim to offer, stop buying tickets to the same disappointment.
Your loneliness is not a coupon.
Your kindness is not a payment method.
Your patience is not an unlimited credit line.
And your self-respect should never be available as an in-app purchase.
Act broke. Be boring. Throw the deuces.
Let the bullshit burn.
Let the people who profit from it figure out how to survive without your money.
And as for the rest of humanity?
I wish you peace.
I wish you honesty.
I wish you enough comfort to stop making everybody else's lives harder.
And if you absolutely insist on being an asshole?
MAY YOU BE STRUCK BY THE SOFTEST FUCKING PILLOW EVER MANUFACTURED.
Repeatedly.
Until the bullshit falls out.
— Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand 🦝